Oblique Impetus
by Whispatchet
Summary: Rewritten and ReSubmitted. G1. T For language. A hidden empire falls, and its survivors take refuge in the Ark under the watch of the greatest Clandestine that ever lived with survival and revenge on their minds. And the Autobots don't even know he exists
1. Fall of a Hidden Empire

The mech sat in the dark of the Command Centre at midnight, his body illuminated only by the pale glow of the monitor in front of him. One hand rested against the keyboard, stilled now, from having been typing in a flurry not too long ago. The other hand was clasped around the handle of an Energon mug. He was alone, which was to be expected at this insane hour, so with no discomfort, the mech removed his mask and took a sip of his drink.

He was not pleased. The slagger had escaped him yet again.

Just then, a small window opened on the screen of its own volition, and the mech found himself looking at a communications alert flashing at the bottom of the screen.

_A transmission? From Cybertron?_ He thought. But before he could think further, the audio to the message opened.

_"'Nate? 'Nate, are you there? Come in already, this is Point! Come in, damnit!!"_ Said the distorted voice.

'Nate blinked. Point? He hadn't heard from Point since the last time he was on Cybertron. How did... how did that minibot know where to get in contact with him? Or how? He blinked and looked to the cable that flowed from his wrist to the computer console he was using. Oh yeah. Point was probably just sending his communications to 'Nate's individual signal and it was being relayed through the console. Unorthodox, but none the less, effective. He tapped a few buttons on the keypad and a visual connection was opened. "Point, I read you. By Primus, what has gotten your buffers in a bind?"

_"'Nate! Thank Primus!"_ The black minibot on the screen said with a sigh of relief. Behind him, it was a live battlefield. Not unusual fare for the time, but still somewhat unexpected from 'Nate's point of view. _"I need back up!"_

'Nate arched an optic ridge at the mech on the screen. "Back up? For what?"

An explosion went off near the black minibot, who ducked for cover.

_"Does that answer your rather redundant question?!"_ Point's voice asked, his face still hiding from the hail of laser fire that snapped overhead.

'Nate stood in alarm, putting his hands on the console on either side of the keyboard. "Point! What is going on?!" He exclaimed.

_"Started about two hours ago!"_ Point said, peeking back onto the screen. _"It's the Decepticons, 'Nate, they're expanding their influence this way, apparently. They've bombed the bloody Institute! Half the Premiums died in that first attack alone!"_ Point ducked out of sight again as the roll of a barrage weapon sounded nearby, closer than the minibot was comfortable with. _"There was nothing to even suggest it was going to happen! Things just started blowing up! The Premiums who didn't die at once were ordering people out and about, and, well, you get the idea. Send some back up already!!"_

"Who do you want me to send, exactly?" 'Nate asked, a feeling of dread starting to well up in the pit of his fuel pump. "I don't have the authority to send anyone anywhere!"

_"What?!" _Point exclaimed back. _"Aren't you stationed with a unit of soldiers somewhere?"_

"I have been assigned to the Autobots, Point, under the command of Optimus Prime! I'm not even an officer! I can't _send_ anyone! And I'm on Earth besides! Even if I could, they wouldn't get there in time!"

Point appeared on the screen again. _"But, what about u...-"_ He cut off. The sounds of battle around him had stopped. 'Nate watched, the dread feeling growing, as the minibot looked around. _"...It stopped... the Decepticons... they've... retreated..."_

"It's... over? Just like that?"

_"I'll go look."_ Point reached for the off switch on his communications console.

"Point," The minibot froze at 'Nate's word. "Bring me survivors."

_"I hope to."_

'Nate slumped back into his chair with a defeated groan. He couldn't believe it. They, of all organisations, were caught off guard. They were caught unprepared. And now... who knows how many of them were left?

They weren't the oldest of Cybertron's secret organisations by far... no, they had only been founded a century or two before 'Nate had been created. And, how did he end up there again? He found he couldn't remember.

But it didn't matter so much. They were the best. They were the Clandestine Institute! Proud, powerful infiltration agents from all walks of life were trained there, with loyalties to the Institute and no one else! If you needed a comparison between them and something on earth, they were pretty much _ninjas_, for Primus' sake!

So how did the Institute fall?

He would wait all night to find the answer, if he had to. And woe betides any Autobot who would try and coerce him out of the Command Centre before he knew what had befallen his comrades... even if it mean blowing his cover among the Autobots, he would know. The Clandestine Institute came first!

But as the hours wore on, and more and more Autobots started drifting in for the day's routine, 'Nate was becoming less and less hopeful. What if there weren't any survivors? What if... what if the Decepticons _hadn't_ retreated, and were hiding in the shadows, waiting for Point to start picking through the rubble in search of their comrades? It was a position to consider.

And... He looked up. The Autobots who had been looking at him quickly turned back to what it was they were supposed to be doing. He was beginning to draw attention to himself... in a bad way. He needed to know what had happened to the other Students! To the Premiums, the Teachers... to everyone! But... years of training at that same place that had just fallen was starting to eat at him, telling him not to blow his cover. He was torn between his training and his loyalty.

He sighed and let his head fall to the desk in front of him, causing optics to drift his way once more. He didn't look up. He didn't care about them right now. He was worried. What was he... supposed to do? What _could_ he do now?

He looked up as someone put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you alright man?"

"Sort of."

"You look terrible. Have you been here all night?"

"There was... something I wanted to get done. Didn't, but wanted to."

"You can always come back to it, y'know." The mech smiled. "Go and get some 'zeez'. You look like you could use it."

'Nate smiled behind his mask. "Thanks, Jazz." He said, standing up and trotting out.

Poor Jazz. 'Nate really considered the head of Special Operations a good friend, and a powerful ally. He was nearly, if not quite, the Autobot trained equivalent of him... the best to ever come out of the Clandestine Institute. It would be too bad, he thought, if the war ended, and Jazz never learned just what kind of power 'Nate had at his disposal... just what kind of mech he was in the real world...

As for Jazz, after 'Nate had left, he took the mech's seat at the computer. And he blinked in surprise. The screen was blank. The computer was idle. But... hadn't he been using it? And, he hadn't touched it as he had gotten up to leave. So... what had he been doing?

- - -

It was two days before 'Nate heard anything from Point on Cybertron. When the spy's communications link started buzzing, he bolted to his quarters and plugged his comm. link into his computer console. And, sure enough, Point appeared on the screen.

"Point!" 'Nate exclaimed, not allowing the clearly exhausted minibot to get the first word. "What is the status of the Institute population? Survivors? Please tell me you found survivors."

Point looked at 'Nate with a tired sigh. _"Surviv_or_, 'Nate. Only one."_

'Nate blinked. "One? That was all?"

_"Mostly anyone who didn't get blown away by the initial bombing was crushed to powder by falling debris. This one escaped, _just_, caught in a pocket under a support beam. She's a lucky kid, tell you what..."_

"...She?"

_"Oh yeah, didn't I tell you? The survivor I found? It's a femme."_ Point managed a smirk at this little piece of information.

"A femme." 'Nate restrained a groan. Were they going to have to babysit one of the library staff, or something? "What's her rank? Her title?"

_"She's, and you're not going to believe this, A-Class. And not only that, she's a Relay Saboteur too."_

"A RS? An _A-Class_ RS?!"

_"Yeah, I thought she was yankin' me too, but, she's got all her qualifications all nice and neat in subspace. Musta figured she'd cop a lot of flak."_

The black minibot sighed. _"So what do we do now? With everyone gone, and the Institute razed to the ground, we've become an easy target to any stray Decepticon patrols. And, we're not Autobots neither, so... going to them is no help..."_

'Nate was contemplative. "You should come here. I'll rig some 'legit' transfer papers for you and the femme, so you can take refuge in the Autobot camp without attracting any unwanted attention."

_"I thought I just explained the fact that we're not Autobots."_

"Don't be a sparkling. Get a pot of paint, for crying out loud."

_"All Autobot femmes have been uprigged here somewhere though, haven't they? She can't come in the first place."_

"True, for their own protection, or so Prime says. But I'm sure if the proper misunderstandings occur, Prime will let the girl stay. What's her call sign anyhow?"

_"Scape, but she says everyone calls her Runt. And I ain' surprised about that; she's rather slight."_

"Scape? As in... goat?"

There was a pause as the other Clandestine tried to figure out what 'Nate meant.

_"Scape... goat... oooh, scapegoat. Right. Funny, 'Nate, funny."_

'Nate chuckled despite himself. "I thought so. Forward me all your information, and I'll set about inputting you into Teletraan-1. In the mean time, get yourself and the Runt to the nearest harbour and haul your afts to Earth."

_"You got it boss."_

So, the Decepticons wanted to play hard ball huh? Time to play it hard.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: I received constructive criticisms! Yay! I love those! And so, in light of this most inspiring advice, I decided to give the three existing chapters an overhaul, as well as apply this advice to the subsequent chapters to come.

Soooo... like this version better? I do. I love reviews that are helpful! Yay! Yay I say!


	2. Transfers

Prowl looked over the two forms in his hands, a frown on his features. They had just received two transfer requests from Cybertron. Was this a strange thing? Perhaps.  
He put them down on his desk and continued to stare at them with derision.

Two Autobots, by the names of Oversight and Vectorcross. He hadn't heard of either one. Which, in itself, was a bit of a problem. He had no basis on which to base his judgement of the pair except the report that he had received on each with the transfer application, and he hated that. It meant that he could not accurately predict their behaviour patterns, who they would get along with, who they knew, who they didn't, what skills they had, other than on the battlefield, their backgrounds, how they got into the army, et cetera et cetera, the list went on. But that was not the only thing that bothered him.

The two requests both seemed... off. But he couldn't put a manipulator on the cause. There was something about the way they were written... the words they used... that made him feel like there was something to them that he wasn't being told. And secrets were, as far as Prowl cared, bad. Also, it could only mean one thing, which was confirmed by the report; Special Operations.

That's what they were. Two adolescent Special Operations agents. As if Prowl didn't have his hands full with the ones already on base. And, knowing from personal experience, it did well to treat Special Ops agents with due care...

"Yo Prowl!" Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Prowl looked up. "Hello, Jazz. How may I help you?"

Jazz cocked his head to one side as he looked at the tactician. "What's eating you?"

"...The Insecticons are not here at the moment, Jazz." Prowl said flatly. "Shall I inform you when they return?"

Jazz snickered. Prowl didn't often show a sense of humour, but when he did, it was the kind of dry wit that always made Jazz chuckle. "Funny man, funny." He said, taking the seat across from the Datsun. "Prowl, y'know better than that." Jazz caught a glimpse at the forms on the desk. "What's this?"

"Transfer requests." Prowl said simply. "I was contemplating accepting or not."

"Give us a looksee." The Porsche said, grabbing the two forms before Prowl could neither object nor intervene. "Hm!" Jazz mused, looking at the first one. "Oversight, hm?"

"You know the mech?" Prowl asked, hopeful.

"Nope." Drat. "But, I'm just looking at his profile here. A sharpshooter! We could always use more of those. Primus knows there are guys here who can't shoot anything more than three feet away."

"Jazz, you know full well that those without shooting abilities are assigned to more passive roles." Prowl said dully.

"Yes yes, I know, Percy and the rest of the science crew."

"Please restrain your teasing, derogatory comments while you are in my office, Jazz."

"Stick in the mud."

Prowl blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothin'."

Prowl frowned. "...Hmm... I wonder."

Jazz flashed him a charming smile, before looking back to the transfer applications in his hands. "So, one's a shooter of sharp, and the other is a..." He blinked. "O-deh lally, an infiltrator!"

Choosing not to enquire what his friend's odd catch phrase was and meant, Prowl focused on the more pressing matter the saboteur had brought up. "An infiltrator, yes. Vectorcross, whoever he may happen to be, seems to have a rather high amount of natural skill for infiltration."

"Natural skill or no, they prolly both need a little refinin'."

"Probably."

Jazz looked up at the other black and white. "You going to accept them?"

"Not certain."

"Why? We could always use the extra help."

Prowl frowned and said nothing.

"Oh come on! Two more for my roster! Is good, yes? We'll have a little more flex to work with!"

"You really want these two new recruits, don't you."

"Yup."

Prowl sighed. "I have to run them by Optimus Prime yet. He may decline them, even if I approve the transfer."

"Why would he?"

"I'm sure I don't know. None the less..."

"Prowl, why dont'cha stop procrastinatin' and just do it?"

"... Something about these applications bothers me."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then hand them to Prime and let 'im sort them out. It's prolly all in your head."

Prowl looked at the applications as Jazz handed them back to him. "Maybe."

- - -

In the end, Prime accepted the transfer applications.

So now, he, Prowl and Red Alert stood on the landing pad, waiting for the shuttle to land, so they may greet the two new Autobots.

"Are you sure about this Prime?" Red Alert had been asking his leader as they waited. "Bringing more Autobots into the Ark at this time could be potentially dangerous. Especially seeing as they are both unknown units, which means they could very well be spies for the Decepticons!"

Prime shook his head at the Security Director. "We have no reason to believe that, Red Alert. Besides, the Autobot who forwarded their applications is a trustworthy mech who has done lots of good work for us over the years. Please stop worrying." They were empty words though, as he knew that for Red Alert, it was all but impossible. It was just the way he was.

Red Alert made a noise of protest, but before he could form one more suspicious word, the roar of shuttle engines sounded in the air, and the Autobots looked up to watch it descend.

After making a fuss of landing, the bay door opened, and a red armoured Autobot strode out. "Evenin' Autobots." He said cheerfully. "Got the two rookies as requested." He handed a data pad to Prime. "Sign please." Prime did so, and handed the pad back to the ferryman. "Thanks. I'll send them out."

And he was gone again, into the belly of his vessel.

"So we sign for our recruits like cargo now." Red Alert muttered, arching an optic ridge at the scene.

Prime ignored Red Alert and looked at Prowl. "What are the names of these Autobots again?" He asked as the two appeared at the door.

"Vectorcross and Oversight…" Prowl answered, looking down at the data pad in his hands to make sure he got the names correct before looking up at the two new Autobots as they exited the shuttle.

"Oh."

The two Autobots strode down the gangplank side by side, seemingly oblivious to the confused looks they were getting from the members of the Command element present.

They stopped before Prime and Prowl, and gave a salute. "Oversight, reporting." Said the first politely, looking up at Prime. Up, being more than a casual term, as this mech, as it happened, was a minibot with black armour. Which put him at waist height to the tall Autobot commander.

"Vectorcross, here." Said the second. "Nice to meet you."

Prime looked to his Vice Commander, who looked up at him. Vectorcross was a femme.

Thrown for a moment, Prime hesitated, before nodding and acknowledging the newcomers.

"It's nice to have you both here." Prime said. He motioned to the red and white mech beside him. "This is Red Alert. He is our Security Director. He shall supply you with the Ark's access codes and comms channel passwords. You'll be assigned quarters and a schedule later, and I'm sure you'll get to meet everyone quickly."

The two newcomers nodded, and moved off to talk with Red Alert. Prime looked to Prowl. "Did we know she was a femme?" He asked.

Prowl shook his head. "There was no indication of it being that way. I'm quite confused. The Autobot who organises the transfers knows that the femmes are to remain on Cybertron. I can't imagine how she would have slipped past."

Prime sighed.

"Are you going to let her stay?"

"We've got little option. We can't exactly tell her to go back now that we have approved her transfer here. We'll just have to hope that she's good at her job. If she's not, we'll have no choice but to send her back."

"Hopefully, not for a burial."

- - -

It only took about an hour for people to start picking up on the female presence in the Ark. Her light voice and slim frame was hard to miss amongst the masses of boxy mechs with gruff voices, and her being there was something of a relief to the Autobot warriors.

So, Oversight had the pleasure of chuckling to himself as every Autobot on base, more or less, introduced themselves with zeal, attempting to win the female's favour. After a little while, their antics left the black and blue femme giggling along with her partner.

Sideswipe was the lucky mech who obtained the hard sought after job of showing the pretty young femme around the Ark, while junior medic First Aid was assigned to do the same for Oversight. The two pairs had split up, and now, Sideswipe and Vectorcross were heading towards Wheeljack's lab, with the intent of introducing her to the inventor.

"Hey, 'Jack, meet the new recruit!" Sideswipe announced, his voice causing the inventor to turn away from the doodad he was tinkering with.

The Lancia looked at the femme for a moment. "A femme?"

"Yeah!" Sideswipe confirmed, his voice telling the grey-white mech that he was quite pleased to have a female in their midst. "This is Vectorcross. She and another guy… Over somthin'…"

"Oversight." Vectorcross interjected gently.

"Yeah that. They just got transferred from Cybertron! I guess Prime recalled his, No Femmes on Earth rule!"

Wheeljack smiled under his mask. "Well, Vectorcross, it is very nice to meet you."

Just at that moment, the unidentified thingy the engineer had been working on burst into flame. "Ah! Slaggit! Ahh!" He cried, stumbling backwards, tipping the chair over and falling over it, before scrambling to his feet and dashing about to find the fire extinguisher. Sideswipe and Vectorcross watched him scramble around and dig through piles of stuff looking for the extinguisher. After a few minutes, Oversight and First Aid entered the lab, and watched as the inventor panicked due to the desk catching alight. Vectorcross looked over at Oversight.

"Hello." She said politely.

The minibot responded with a grin. "Hey." He looked over at Wheeljack, who was at this point attempting to smother the fire by bapping it with a clipboard, but that only seemed to be making it worse.

First Aid and Sideswipe sighed at him.

"I'll go find Inferno, I think." Said the young medic as he made his leave.

Sideswipe considered the fire for a moment, unable to restrain a chuckle as the fire caught on an oil stain on the table top and the engineer was tossed back with a cry of surprise.

"Does this happen… often?" Oversight asked, casting an optic over the rest of the lab, which seemed as charred as the desk was becoming.

"Yeah, almost daily." Sideswipe returned.

Just then, there was the tinkle of glass, and the three Autobots were passed by a fast moving grey-white blur. "EVACUATE!" Wheeljack yelled as he bolted past.

Sideswipe knew well enough to dive through the door in the instant after Wheeljack's retreat. The two newcomers did not know so well, and dove behind the protective wall at the last possible second, the raging fireball that spewed forth from Wheeljack's lab doing no more damage to the bystanders than blackening Vectorcross' shoulder.

The group held still for several moments after the fire had passed, before raising their heads.

"_That_ happens a lot?" Oversight asked, arching an optic ridge at the engineer, who was casually pulling himself to his feet.

"Yeh. Mostly there's just a regular 'boom' but sometimes we catch on fire."

"Interesting… hobby…" Vector glanced at Oversight, who returned her uncertain look.

Just then, a fire truck drove down the hall.

"S'cuse me!" he called over the sound of his siren, pulling up to extinguish the fire inside Wheeljack's lab.

"Yo, Inferno! Yer' late!" Sideswipe chided, waving a finger at the bot. "The whole joint's gunna go up!"

"Shut your yap, Sides." Inferno said nonchalantly, brushing off the taunt as if it were a normal occurrence.

Which it mostly was.

- - -

Hours after the rather entertaining incident in the lab section of the base, Oversight and Vectorcross met up in the former's new shiny quarters.

"What do you think of them so far?" The minibot asked of the femme.

"The Autobots are nice. I keep hearing that Prime has all the other females on Cybertron though. Makes me wonder how I was allowed to stay."

"Ah, well, that's 'Nate for you. He rigged it. He always was the best out of all of us." The minibot threw his arms behind his head and settled into a sitting position on his recharge berth. "He was up for a Premium Classification too. I heard he turned it down to stay with his unit, though."

There was a hiss as the door opened, and the two spies had suddenly vanished from sight. The visitor didn't seem surprised that the room was 'empty.'

"Keeping your guards up, I see?" He mentioned.

The two new Autobots stepped out of their hiding spots.

"Primus, 'Nate, you couldn't have come at us sounding any more menacing?" Oversight whined.

"Well, I could have run full pelt down the hall, beat your nice, new door down with the butt of my gun and been yelling the whole way."

"Forget I said anything, boss."

'Nate chuckled.

"That's rather clever, the way you disguise your voice around the Autobots." The femme pointed out. "They don't know who you are, do they."

"No. And I prefer it that way. Even almighty Optimus Prime doesn't know. And Primus, poor Red Alert, he'd implode if he were to discover there to be not one, but now _four_ spies currently in residence."

"He did seem a bit jumpy." Oversight said casually.

"Jumpy? Hell, you ain't seen nothing yet, Point."

"Come on, 'Nate, we're not on duty now. Call me Oversight, please."

"If you stop using my call sign, even if we're in a private area like this, I'm going to kill you, _Point_."

"I'll keep that in mind, 'Nate." Oversight smirked.

'Nate turned to Vectorcross. "Do you have your qualifications on you? I'd like to confirm them."

Without so much as an instant of hesitation, the femme brought a neat stack of datapads out of subspace and handed them to the superior spy, who cast each of them a cursory glance.

"Well I'll be damned. An honest to Primus A-Class Relay Saboteur."

"Pretty nifty, huh?"

"Nifty ain't the word for it." Oversight crossed his arms across his torso. "I have no idea how a runt like you managed to outclass me in such a short amount of time. I mean, I was near to graduating, and you had only been there for a year before the Institute was razed."

"My creator designed me with this specification in mind. He was an Institute graduate already, so…"

"…So you were programmed to do this?! Damn, that's like cheating!"

"I'd call it a natural advantage." 'Nate said, not without a hint of good humour in his undisguised voice. "Not all mechs can be as talented as me, or as stubborn as you."

"Hrummmph."

'Nate smiled to himself. But he was quite used to the minibot's quirks.

"May I ask you something, 'Nate?" Vectorcross asked suddenly.

"Hn? Go ahead."

"You know I'm a Relay Saboteur type, and that Oversight is a Sniper Sight type, but what are you? If you don't mind saying, that is." She added quickly.

"Me?" The leader paused to see the femme's nod of confirmation. Oversight also seemed to be interested in this titbit of information. No one ever bothered to ask before. "Y'know, with the Premiums gone, I'm the only one who knows that." He mentioned.

"Are you going to tell us?" Oversight asked.

'Nate looked thoughtful, and tapped a finger against his face. "I suppose I could." He said, levelling them both with an unreadable expression. "I'm an Encryption Façade type."

The head spy saw his comrades' optics widen ever so slightly.

"For serious?!" Oversight exclaimed.

"Most certainly serious. First, last, and only." He made a sweeping mock bow.

"Well, that explains your talent for changing your voice." Vectorcross commented.

"Did you work for that type? I know I had myself retrofitted to at least get the 'Sight' half of my Classification."

"Nope. I was actually studying to be a Relay Infiltrator so I could stay with the Autobots. The Premiums had other ideas. Just as well I can still stay with this mob with my Classification."

"Just as. They would be sore to lose you."

"They would. They'd be riddled with more infiltrators that they would know how to deal with. Most of the Decepti-rats that have been in here got shot in the back… by an unidentified inside force."

"That's right." Vectorcross said, suddenly remembering. "You said that there were now _four_ spies here. There are three of us. Who's spy number four?"

'Nate's expression was solemn. "I don't know."

"Oohh. He's _that_ kind of spy, hm? D'you want us to help you flush him out, mighty leader?" Asked the black minibot.

"That's exactly what I want." 'Nate said gently. "I'm going to see to it that at least one of us is on monitor duty with Red Alert at all times."

"Ain't he that jumpy freak?" Oversight crossed his arms.

"Paranoid and good at it, is more like it, but yes."

"No offence 'Nate, but if this guy is good enough to spy on the Autobots, transmit slag outta here, and at the same time, evade _you_, I don't think he'll get caught by any cameras."

"Perhaps. But that could change. He doesn't know I have backup now. And, I don't think he's transmitting anything, either."

"He's not?"

"No. According to what I have learned, the infiltrator here now is a saboteur."

"A saboteur, huh."

"He doesn't know who you are, does he?" Vectorcross asked, slightly worried.

"I make a habit of not doing anything 'spy-like' out in the open often. I can't imagine that he would. But he knows someone is after him. He's been laying low since the last time. Which was… when you called me, Oversight."

"Ah. So _that's_ what I was interrupting."

"He had already slipped out of my reach by that time anyway." 'Nate said, waving a hand dismissively.

"What have you tried?" Asked the femmespy.

"Surveillance, data tracking, and most recently, physical tampering. All bunk."

"You may be the best of the best, bud, but even you can't do too many things at once. Doing this slag and also keeping your Autobot guise on takes up all your time." Oversight smirked. "Leave the hacking to me. The runt can deal with the physical sabotage, and you can be your own charming self."

"I can also set up an independent surveillance net to cover the personal quarters, if you like."

"That's a good idea. I'm too big to get into people's quarters unnoticed."

"Well, so am I, really, but I'm sure Oversight could help me."

"We'll trap this guy with no way out. When you finally figure it, how do you wanna take him down? Reveal him, or make him a statistic?"

"If we reveal him, we reveal ourselves. The other Autobots won't take too kindly to there being independent spies on the payroll, least of all Red."

"I'll remove his head from his shoulders then."

"Has he got a target?" Vectorcross asked.

"Two that I've noticed. Perceptor's lab and Prime's office. Prime's office is a given, as well as Prowl's. But Percy's working on some calculations for energy production to be sent to engineering later. He's had a few close calls. If Perce wasn't as paranoid as Red Alert when it comes to protecting his calculations, he would have had to start from scratch about eight or so times. It's been virus after stolen datapad after system crash after wilful destruction of property. A few days ago he decided to stay firmly locked in his lab and not come out at all, although that hasn't stopped it. So whoever this guy is, he's either small enough to get into the lab unseen, or someone who has clearance to get in."

"Or else damn good at his job." Vectorcross quipped.

Oversight made an amused noise and drew his weapon out of subspace. "Ah, the thrill of the hunt." He cooed, clipping a cartridge of ammo into place. "Well boss, just give the word."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: People who read the original content will recognise a great lot of this chapter. I was rather happy with the content I started with, but I extended the opening a bit. I've been given a treasure trove of ideas from here and there, and conversations at great length with my boyfriend, so the new version of this is going to be, even if I do say so myself, AWSOME.

So, please review!


	3. Underlying Feeling

'Nate watched the two new quote unquote Autobots as they were shown around the Ark, given a schedule, and provided Terran alternate modes. Vectorcross, who he knew as Scape was given the form of a news helicopter, perfect for her scouting and infiltrating talent. Oversight, Point to him, was given a small car for a Terran mode, not dissimilar to Bumblebee's alternate form, except not as round.

It was... amusing, to say the least, at the reaction Vectorcross extracted from the Autobots by simply existing. He hadn't realised just how starved the others were for a little female company. And Vectorcross herself made the situation even more entertaining, as she was an adorable, charming little thing. Without even trying, she melted most of the Autobots, all but literally, into puddles of multihued goo.

He watched them all day, until they finally headed to their rooms, situated conveniently side by side, into which they retired for the night. Satisfied that his new charges were alright, and would fit in with little difficulty, 'Nate too, retired to his quarters.

Had he remained watching the two a little longer, he might have changed his opinion.

Of the two of them, Vectorcross was the most ill at ease. She tossed and turned on her berth, whimpering, and muttering. It got worse as the night progressed, and, at around midnight, a particularly harsh toss on her part sent her hand thumping into the wall. The impact was not enough to hurt her, but the sound had jerked her out of her unrestful slumber and she lashed out at the empty air of her scarce room with her rotor blade and two blades that extended from her forearms. In her half asleep daze, she cut deep grooves and harsh scratches over all the furniture and walls, and, waking the minibot who had been dozing next door.

Oversight, who had not been having any better a night, was jerked out of his rest by a loud thump, and several loud, grating scrapes and shouts. Hardly realising what it may have been, the minibot raised his arm and discharged his gun into the wall with a shout. The bullet broke through the wall, and Vectorcross dropped to the floor with a terrified squeal.

The Autobots around them had no option to be oblivious to the goings on in the rooms of the new recruits. Several bust down the doors to the rooms, almost simultaneously, and the reaction they got in both cases was strikingly different.

Those that had stormed the femme's room with the intent to help, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, found her huddled near the far wall, holding onto it as if it would protect her, whimpering, with energon tears trickling down her cheeks.

As if to be the polar opposite, those who entered Oversight's room, Jazz, Blaster, Bumblebee and Wheeljack, were greeted by the barrel of a rather nasty looking gun, grasped in the hands of a distressed black minibot, whose violet optics were far paler than was ever healthy, and his body was shaking.

"Get away from me!!" He shouted, his voice trembling more than his frame.

The mechs wisely backed away into the corridor, holding their hands up to show the minibot that they were unarmed.

At the same time, the Twins and Bluestreak were coming out of Vectorcross' room, Sunstreaker holding the petite femme in his arms, where she was content to stay. The two groups froze upon seeing each other. Oversight did not. The minibot followed the group who had entered his room into the hall, not taking his gun off them for a second.

"Oversight..." One of the mechs said, he wasn't sure which, levelling the minibot with a glare. "Put the gun down."

Oversight didn't move, but he began to tremble slightly more obviously.

It was at this point that more Autobots started responding to the disturbance, Prowl among those who approached the group.

"Oversight!" He said in a loud, clear voice. "Stand down!"

Oversight whirled to point his gun at Prowl, and everyone tensed. Prowl on the other point, did not move. "We are not your enemies." He said flatly.

There was a long, draining pause, but then the minibot blinked and his gun fell out of aim. "Uh?" He looked around at the Autobots, some looking stern, some looking frightened, some looking worried. His optics landed on 'Nate among the sea of hardly familiar faces, whose expression was difficult to read with his mask in place, and he slumped to the floor, his gun sliding to the ground beside him.

"I am... so sorry..." He muttered, his voice trembling.

- - -

The two spent the rest of the night in the med bay. Optimus Prime and Ratchet had been roused and sent there to speak with them, but neither would reveal anything. The CMO and Commander met near the medical wing entrance after all attempts at finding the cause for the night's unrest had failed.

"They are so, bloody, stubborn!" Ratchet exclaimed.

"Ratchet, there may be a reason. They were clearly distressed by something." Prime said, patting the weary medic on the shoulder. It was hard to get any decent kind of response out of Ratchet at this hour of the day; he hardly got enough sleep as it was, and waking him was, usually, nothing short of suicidal. But, it being their first night, and as of yet having gone without their medical examination, Ratchet could hardly refuse. And with Prime himself the messenger, fulfilling that particular human phrase about shooting him might be a bad idea.

"Yeh, but by what? As far as anyone can tell, no one and nothing went in or out of those rooms." Ratchet said, putting his hands on his hips.

"There is, clearly, more to them than we can see. I'm going to have to ask you to perform their medicals earlier than we planned..." Prime trailed off, looking at the glare his head medic was sending him. "...first thing in the morning?"

"In the morning, I can do."

Prime nodded, before looking thoughtful. "I might have to get Smokescreen to talk to them, as well."

"A Psychological Assessment?" Ratchet arched an optic ridge at the commander. "You think they'll agree to that?"

"I didn't say that. I said a talking to. A conversation. We've tried asking them directly, but we didn't learn anything, did we? They're defensive. So, I'll get Smokescreen to speak with them, one on one."

- - -

The next morning, Ratchet brought the new recruits into his examination room one by one, hoping to find some cause to their turmoil the night prior.

Afterwards, with the pair safely sleeping under mild sedatives in the med bay, Ratchet reported their every detail to Optimus Prime.

"There's nothing in their physical conditions that could lead to having fits like they did." The medic said, slumping into the chair in front of the CO's desk and dropping a datapad onto the faux timber surface. "But, I'll tell you what, they're Special Ops, alright."

"What do you mean?" Prime asked, picking up the pad and looking over its contents.

"Well, take the mini for example; He's got standard construction, like Bumblebee, but his optics are like nothing else. He's got infrared, thermal, long distance, night, high brilliance, underwater... the list goes on! He's even got optic settings that I don't know what they do, let alone why they're there."

"He wants to be able to see, no matter the circumstance, by the sounds of it."

"It gets better though."

"Oh?"

"Yeh, aside from his optics, he's got several high tech connection ports and retracted cables in his left arm. I think the runt is a Hacker, as well."

Prime frowned. "And the femme?"

"She's, undoubtedly, a commission." Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest. "She couldn't be better at taping and recording stuff if she were Lazerbeak. She's been designed with cameras and recording equipment integrated into her body, as well as removable, external cameras and recorders. She's got two blades in her forearms that she can eject from her wrists to use as weapons, and her entire frame is peppered with compartments and hidey holes. They're not average Autobots."

Prime looked back at the datapad he held in his hand. "No. I don't think they are at all. We must find out how they came to be here... How they convinced their superiors to send them here, and who those superiors were. It may be important."

- - -

The next day, the two were released from the med bay on light duties for a while. Oversight had scoffed at that; they were on relatively light duties as it was. But neither he nor Vectorcross were going to complain. They had their wits about them now; they could spend their newfound free time to work on helping 'Nate catch the spy.

But how to go about it? They had talked when they had been alone together in the med bay, and their options with what they knew of the Autobots, were limited.

Oversight sat in the Lounge, cradling a mug of warm energon. The femme had vanished to her quarters to make some cameras for use in the Autobot dormitory, leaving him with nothing to occupy himself except the smooth taste of the drink he had before him. He did, however, have a slight frown on his face.

And he didn't look up when a white and black mech sat beside him.

"Can I sit here?" Smokescreen asked.

"You are sitting there." Oversight pointed out, turning slightly to face the mech. "Can I help you somehow?"

"I just thought you could use some company... you were sitting here all on your lonesome."

"Hm, so I was."

Smokescreen smiled and leaned back into the chair. "So, how do you like the Ark so far?" He asked.

Oversight arched an optic ridge at the Datsun. "Alright, I suppose. The energon is rather nice, I will admit."

Smokescreen smirked. "It's made with the heat from the volcano below us. Volcanic soil is the most fertile on Earth, and volcanic energy seems to make the best energon, too. Of course, other sources are just as good, I find myself liking energon converted from solar energy."

"Uh huh..."

Smokescreen looked at the minibot beside him. "Where were you stationed before here? I'm from Iacon's North-East sector." He noticed a twig of recognition in the black mech, but no retort, so he continued on. "Some crazy shit went down there, let me tell you..."

Smokescreen was suddenly cut off by a black hand slamming sharply down on the table as Oversight stood. "I don't need to hear your war-fracking-stories!" He declared. "We're living one here; we don't need to be inundated with scores from the past!" And with not another word, he stormed off. Perhaps Vector needed an extra pair of hands for her craft.

Smokescreen watched the minibot leave before pulling a pad out of subspace.

Easily irritated. Not interested in making conversation. Has repugnance to "war stories". Possible reason, serious attack on his unit before transfer? Likely to be same attack that caused reaction in the femme. How closely related are they?

- - -

Vectorcross turned her head to look at the black minibot sulking in the corner of her room. He'd been there for an hour, sitting in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the door as if he expected someone to come through it. She sighed and put down her tools.

"Point, you alright?"

"No." He snapped. "Neither are you. Not after the attack. Neither of us are."

Vectorcross frowned but said nothing.

"I mean, admit it, we nearly killed one another the other night! When we're awake, our training lets us keep our wits about us even with the crap that happened to us back there. But once we try to recharge..."

"We didn't get any rest on the shuttle down, I know."

"You know?! I slagging know! You refused to go near anything that looked remotely like a support beam, and you nearly filleted me when I fell off the bench and the sound made you think of gunfire!"

"Sorry."

"Don't. We..." He paused and sighed deeply. "We're still students, you and I. 'Nate, he's a graduate. He could probably deal with this better."

"Should we ask for help?"

Oversight shook his head. "We can't. We have to deal with it ourselves. We owe our teachers and classmates that much. If we can deal with this, then we can catch 'Nate's spy, then go home... maybe re-establish the Institute!"

Vectorcross tilted her head to one side. "You want to do that? Is that your goal?"

The sniper gave the femme a long suffering look. "Clandestine was all I had. My creator and kin were aftheads, and if I hadn't been picked up by the Clandestine guys, I'd have been Decepticon fodder by now." Vectorcross offered a tender pat on the shoulder. "So, I want to restore it. I want to return it to the glory it used to be. It's... all I have."

Outside in the corridor, a masked mech was listening to the young spies talk. They had faked being fine. He couldn't say he blamed them, and he was ashamed of being so distracted by his own problems to notice. 'Nate shook his head and headed down the hall to the part of the Ark that the Autobots all knew to be his domain.

He offered those who he passed a hello in return for theirs, ultraviolet lights in the ceiling making his white armour glow in the dim corridor.

He needed to do something about his young wards. He needed to do something drastic. They needed to be at peak performance or they would be found out, booted out, or killed, and that would be bad. Not only from a professional and ethical point of view, but... he had no desire to be the last Clandestine agent.

Because when you became the last of something... that meant that sooner or later... there would be none left.

- - -

Smokescreen was surprised to see Vectorcross walking down the corridor in the Officer's Dormitory. She was heading back from what looked like... Prime's room? And the look on her face said that she wasn't expecting to see anyone while she was here... not without cause, mind. The Officer's Dorm tended to be a ghost town environment when there was a change of shift. Not only because the Officers were coming on and off shift, but those that weren't were usually coordinating the rest of the masses in their own shift changes.

The black and white mech stopped and looked at her, and she did the same.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I got lost." She answered.

He tilted his head to one side. "You seemed surprised to see me here." He mentioned.

She smiled. "I thought you were Prowl for a moment."

"You don't like Prowl?"

"He's... angsty." Smokescreen choked back a laugh at the comment, but the femme heard it regardless. "When I realised a pattern in the names on the doors, I knew I wasn't supposed to be here. I thought you were Prowl... he would have been angry with me."

"Nah." Smokescreen gave her a pat on the shoulder. "You're new. Pit, even I still get lost."

She smiled at him. "Do you think you could help me get to the lounge? I'm sure it's probably in the entirely different direction to what I thought."

Smokescreen put an arm around her shoulder and guided her to the correct corridor. "It is down this way, dear girl. Actually, a drink sounds like a great idea."

"You're not on shift?"

"Nope." He hoped she believed him. His shift was based on trying to get her to talk. He hoped that she was more talkative than her minibot cohort. "Unless you'd rather not have my company?"

"No, no." She smiled. "I'd be happy to have you walk with me."

Smokescreen nodded, and the two walked down the hall.

The pair walked in a silence that was as awkward as it was long. They were each weary of what the other was thinking; She knew that he was a false ally, and probably didn't believe the damsel in distress 'I'm Lost' excuse.

Whereas Smokescreen wanted to know about her past... who she was before this, what had caused her to be thrown into such a state of panic... what nightmare had shaken her evening to the core?

"I miss Cybertron sometimes. Do you?" He eventually asked, breaking the silence.

"I haven't been away long enough to, I don't think." Was the answer the femme gave.

"Ah." Smokescreen nodded. "What city were you from? I'm from Iacon."

"Polyhex."

Smokescreen made a mental note to check for any recent attacks on the Polyhex area.

"I'd been to Polyhex once before the war got there. It was nice."

"It was. I liked it. My creator used to call where we lived the Jewel of the Southern Half."

Jewel of the Southern Half?

"I miss my creator."

"He fell in battle?"

"It wasn't a battle." Vectorcross stopped and turned towards the Dorm where her room was. "It was a massacre. Excuse me." And she set of towards her room at a brisk jog, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs.

Smokescreen offered the direction the femme had fled a sympathetic look before pulling out his note pad.

Talks easier than Oversight. Chooses to flee rather than confront painful thoughts/conversations. Attack recently in Polyhex? Something called the Jewel of the Southern Half, whatever that is. Her creator was killed... in that attack?

- - -

A few days passed. Smokescreen did not approach the two spies again, but both were certain that he wanted to. It didn't occur to them why he was leaving them be. They didn't realise that Smokescreen was leaving them alone, because he was nowhere to be found.

'Nate stood near the wall of his quarters, looking down at the mech who lay on the berth, unconscious.

"I hate to have to do this to you, Smokescreen." He said. "But I cannot allow news of the Institute to get out. Your investigation must be... forgotten."

In a way, he reasoned, this was a good thing. It was a way to test his painfully unethical process before turning it on his wards. He didn't want to risk the lives of the Autobots, but even less did he want to risk a Clandestine. Smokescreen would have to be the martyr, to protect the missions of the spies.

Taking a tool out of subspace, he leant over the black and white mech, peeling back the armour plating on his head to access his memory banks.

- - -

A few hours later, under the cover of darkness and the abandoned halls of the Ark at night, 'Nate carried Smokescreen towards the science labs. His experiment had worked well. Smokescreen's findings about his wards had been forgotten, the assignment had been forgotten, the agents had been forgotten. 'Nate had rearranged the mech's memories into a garbled mess of impulses and emotions and colour but not a lot else. It was a masterpiece of chaos, even if he did say so himself.

He sighed as he palmed open the door to the Engineering Lab, and propped the unfortunate Datsun in the centre of the room. With Smokescreen in place, he moved over to the main workbench, the worktop reminiscent of a battlefield, scorched and uneven in places. Sitting on this broken surface was a device, a strange device which only one or two of the Ark residents actually knew what it was supposed to do. Even fewer knew what it actually did, but 'Nate didn't really care either way. That was irrelevant. As long as it did what he wanted it to now.

And he wanted it to blow up.

After a moment of fiddling with the device, he fled, counting the moments before the lab exploded, shaking the Ark with a violent tremble and waking every Autobot on board.

- - -

It was less than an hour till Smokescreen was admitted to the tender care of Ratchet and his staff. The poor mech was in such a ragged state that his chances of surviving were slim, but they gave their utmost to keep him alive.

Optimus Prime had been the last to leave the engineering lab. He had stood at its mouth, staring at it with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face, visible even though his mask.

What had caused one of Wheeljack's creations to explode this time? There had been no one in the lab, nothing that could have caused the machine to detonate. It made no sense to the Autobot Commander, and the fact that Smokescreen, who had been missing for the last two days, had been caught in the blast, simply added to the conundrum. What had Smokescreen been doing in Wheeljack's domain? The mech was a psychologist; he had no need for engineering's tools or files. Where had he vanished to? And why had he shown up here? The whole thing screamed foul play... but there were no clues to feed an investigation. It was puzzling.

And a problem that needed to be solved, for the sake of the Autobots under his care.

- - -

'Nate ordered the two Clandestine agents to his quarters under the cover of night a day later. It would have been preferable to wait till the commotion from the lab explosion had subsided, but he really had no option; it needed to be done as soon as possible to prevent any further incident. And it was beginning to become obvious to even the least deductive Autobot that something was amiss with the pair; they could not rest. They could not recharge. It had been many days and neither had been able to have a night's recharge due to the trembling terrors of the attack that plagued their minds when they tried to relax.

'Nate knew quite well the dreams that ailed them; He used to have dreams often of battles past, battles that had claimed his friends, his family, his home... they were old wounds now. He was not an Elder mech but nor was he as young as his charges. The battles he had seen were scars now, not yet faded. Theirs were fresh. And their minds were not fully trained. They could not contain the nightmares.

"'Nate, did you do that horrible thing to Smokescreen?" Vectorcross asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.

"You did, didn't you?" Oversight pressed. "Because he was trying to find out about what was giving us ni-" He cut off.

"Nightmares." 'Nate intoned, the word ringing in the room like a death sentence.

Oversight grimaced. "Yes. Nightmares."

'Nate raised his optic ridges in amusement and leant back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, Point, Scape, tell me of your nightmares."

Oversight looked away, and Vectorcross clenched a hand over her chest as if a great pain was welling up there. Neither spoke a word.

"Ah." Said the leader. "I see. Your silence says volumes."

The pair looked ashamed.

"Don't look like that. You are young and not fully trained. I should have expected this trauma, but I was distracted by the implications of the attack, and the preoccupation of the infiltrator here. For this, I apologize."

"'Nate, it's not your fault!" Vectorcross exclaimed. "We're just not as strong as you!"

'Nate turned his head slowly and looked at the femme with a blank expression that frightened her more than any angry expression would have. He held the look for a moment before raising his hand to his face and removing his mask. His mouth was pulled into a sad smile.

"Strength is not measured by lack of feeling, child."

Vectorcross was stunned into silence.

"So..." 'Nate said after a pause. "I have come up with a solution to the problem."

"Really?" Oversight exclaimed. "Fantastic!"

"Not so much as it seems."

"Oh? Why?"

"The only way to prevent the nightmares is to remove the cause."

Vectorcross gasped in horror.

"You... y-you want to erase the memories of the attack?"

"Modify. So you do not lose what you are fighting for, but the pain is... dulled."

There was a draining silence in the room that seemed to stretch for an eternity... then Oversight stepped forward.

"Do it."

"Oversight!!" Vectorcross squealed.

'Nate stood. "Very good. Lie down on the berth, we'll do it right now."

While Oversight complied with the leader's order, Vectorcross objected, grabbing at 'Nate's arm. "'Nate, there must be another way! Please!"

'Nate smiled at the female and gently rested a hand on the top of her helm, feeling her shudder slightly at the tender touch. "Vectorcross, I cannot force you to do this. It must be a choice that you make. But, I can't keep you here."

"...huh?"

"The dreams keep you awake. You can't even relax. Anyone who looks at you... either of you... can tell at no more than a glance that you have not recharged in days. How long do you think you will last without rest?"

Vectorcross stared at the mech, open mouthed, but unable to speak. So, he continued.

"You could take stimulants, but that, undoubtedly, will dull your senses and your death at the hands of the Decepticons would be swift and horrible. I'd have to send you back to Cybertron just to protect you."

Vectorcross looked down and said nothing. 'Nate smiled at her and gently pushed her into his chair, before moving back to the berth where Oversight was waiting.

"Last chance to cop out, Point." 'Nate mentioned in a light voice.

"Nah." Oversight smirked. "I trust you."

While 'Nate worked on the minibot, Vectorcross watched in morbid curiosity. Did she trust 'Nate enough with her memories? Did she trust him to not harm her mind while he removed what was causing her so much pain?

Oversight did.

Oversight had been a good friend to her over the last little while. They had gotten close. Oversight and 'Nate were all she had. She and 'Nate were all Oversight had.

And it was just then that she realised what kind of situation she was in.

They were the last of the Clandestine Institute.

They could trust no one else.


	4. Foolish Pride, Fatal Error

The aim was to be as painful as possible without anyone knowing. Every time there was an unexplainable problem with the Autobots' equipment, he was to blame. It gave him a sense of power, being able to hinder an army with only a few keystrokes, or flicks of the wrist. The best part was, after all these years, they still didn't know it was him. They still didn't know he was there, making life hard. Ah, the life of a saboteur.

He wasn't the most out-there mech on the Ark. He'd all but fallen off the active roster; paid but forgotten... which made his job all the easier.  
Not that the Decepticons were any more likely to remember him either; it had been many long years when he was assigned to the Ark, to stalk the Autobots and wreck things, making life horrible.

At least he enjoyed what he did. There'd be no incentive to do it, otherwise.

But this time was different. This time, he wanted to be thanked for his efforts. He didn't want to be eventually gunned down by other Decepticons, and everyone forgetting who he was and what he did. He certainly didn't want an _Autobot funeral, _which he had come close to, not long ago.  
He was a Decepticon, and wanted to be treated as such.

So, this time, he wanted the Decepticons to know what he was up to. He wanted Megatron to know just what it was the Autobots were planning, and what he was going to destroy. He was willing to risk blowing his cover, just for a little thanks.

He sat at the console in his room, typing away. He wasn't a hacker, really. It wasn't hard to wreck computers. But to get into the communications frequency that he wanted, that took a little more work. Eventually, he was confronted by a familiar face.

"Identify yourself." Said Soundwave's monotonic voice, distorted by the low quality equipment.  
The saboteur scoffed. "Soundwave, do you really need to ask that?" He said. "You being a telepath and all."

Soundwave's face did not change, but he gave off the impression of a glare. "Identify yourself." He repeated.  
With a roll of the optics, an answer was given, "I am Road Hauler, ID number 338532. Saboteur."  
"Road Hauler. You are an Autobot."  
"Sure. And Starscream has a brain." Was the construction mech's retort. "Come one Sounders, check the Decepticon roster. I'm a 'Con. Always have been. I've been wrecking things inside the Ark on Megatron's behalf for ages."

Soundwave, again, did not look moved. "There has been no mention of you being a Decepticon."  
"No, I can't imagine there would have been. Seeing as I have been doing this job since before the Ark was designed." He gave the blue Decepticon a look. "What, do you need proof? Here, look."

Road Hauler stood, and pointed to the Autobot insignia on his arm. Before the Communications Officer could ask, the construction mech reached a hand up ad slid the red crest away, revealing the purple one underneath.

"Stand by."

Road Hauler smirked and sat back down. The telepathic mech was obviously checking the records. Like he shouldn't have done that in the first place.

After a few minutes, Soundwave turned back to the camera and spoke. "Decepticon membership confirmed, Road Hauler. Why have you not reported in before now? The records label you as Missing In Action."  
"That would be bloody right." Road Hauler grumbled. "Have you noticed, Soundwave? We're in a war. It's a little hard to report in when you're supposed to be acting like an Autobot. Besides, communications is your speciality, mine is sabotage. It's hard to get a secure signal out."

- - -

After the procedure had been completed, the two young spies dropped into what could only be called the sleep of the dead... and 'Nate couldn't blame them; they needed it. He wouldn't be surprised if the pair slept for a good day or two.

He looked down at a pair of disks in his hand. He hadn't _erased_ their memories at all, simply moved them. Not for their benefit, but rather his own. He had hopes that, if he studied the memories of the attack, he would be able to better understand what had happened... why it happened... how to seek revenge.

He shook his head and stowed the disks in subspace. It would not do to leave them lying around for unsuspecting Autobots to find, no, not at all.

In retrospect though, it may have been a poor choice for action. Their recovery would be too instantaneous to avoid attention, but there was little he could do about it now. They wouldn't agree to have the memories put back, not now that they could rest without nightmares.

The Leader sighed and leaned back against the wall of the corridor, looking up at the ceiling. He could sympathise with their plight all too well. When he had been fresh out of the Institute and assigned to the Autobot crew, he'd seen all sorts of horrible things... things that he could push out of his mind, now.

Footsteps sounded from down the hall, and 'Nate vanished instantly. Jazz came past where he had been standing moments before, and, it almost seemed as if the Head of Special Ops wasn't going to notice anything.

But then he stopped.

The black and white Porshe looked around, his optics narrowing behind his azure visor. His gaze landed on the wall where 'Nate had been leaning, and it lingered there for a moment, before he moved off with a contemplative "Hmm..."

Once Jazz had vanished down the hall, and was well and truly away, 'Nate reappeared. He shook his head with a sigh. "Sorry, Jazz." He breathed. "Not even you can know who and what I am. It would mean the end of us all..."

With another sigh, the white mech headed back down the hall, a chill that only he could feel filling the corridor.

- - -

Jazz frowned at the empty room.

Something in the Ark was certainly wrong, lately. He had felt presences, thought he heard conversations in empty rooms and seen flashes of white and black and red and blue in the utmost corner pixels of security footage. Had he dared mention it, it would have sounded like the third in command was going completely off his rocker.

But he had never been surer of anything. And the closeness of the presence he had felt in the hall... it put him on edge. Mostly because it wasn't a threatening presence, like he might feel if he were in the same room with a Decepticon, but rather one that just wanted to stay hidden. He wasn't the Head of Special Operations for nothing; he had a sixth sense for things like this. You didn't last long in SpecOps if you didn't.

And now, in his room, well, it just took the cake.

It wasn't a presence, as such. The presence of a person and the feeling of something out of place were two totally different things, and he was definitely picking up the something out of place vibe... He had come back from his shift as normal, pestered Prowl as normal, then returned to his quarters as normal… but he could feel it. Someone had been in here.

Slowly, so as not to disturb anything that might be lying in wait for him, the Saboteur stepped inside and skirted the perimeter. Nothing seemed to be missing, or to have been moved. At least none of his things had been fiddled with, which was a plus.

He looked up at the ceiling. The only way someone could get into the room, besides the door, was the vent at the rear of the room, which was situated over his desk. It was not the biggest vent in the world, admittedly. Only a human or one of the Minibots would be able to fit, although it would be a tight squeeze for a mini. Optics narrowing behind his visor, the head of Special Ops clambered onto his desk and leaned close to the vent.

Inside the vent was a small camera. Wireless, running on an internal battery, and recording away quite happily.

"Well well, what have we here?" He asked, grabbing the camera and hopping down to the floor.

"Apologies." Said a mechanical voice, which was quite likely to be the Windows Narrator. "You caught me."

Then, the miniature camera self destructed, covering Jazz's face in a fine layer of black soot, and filling his room with smoke.

"What the…?" He muttered. Even Jazz knew that the spy that was, or was not, in the Ark, was better than that. Frowning, he left his room, changing the access code as he went, just in case, and headed to the washracks to rid himself of the soot.

Meanwhile, another camera, razor thin and virtually invisible, continued to watch the inside of the room from the vent cover.

- - -

Jazz was not the only one who was getting the feeling of being watched. All over the Ark, the more perceptive Autobots were finding strange cameras in the ceiling vents, or under their bunks, or perched on top of the doorframe. Each and every one, in the same voice, apologised, and then detonated.

And no one could figure out who was responsible.

But no one who had found a camera in their room that day were expecting to see Optimus Prime himself enter the washracks, streaks of black across his mask and helm, like he had tried to wipe it off with his hand, and not been very successful.

"O-Optimus!" Bumblebee stuttered, seeing the large blue and red mech enter. "Don't tell me that you found one in your room too!"  
Optimus looked over at the handful of mechs in the washracks, all at varying degrees of soot stained. "Have you all found those odd cameras?" He asked.  
There was a round of yes, sir's, which only made the Commander frown. Prowl stepped up and handed Optimus a damp cloth. "There was one in my office as well." He said. "And some of the Minibots have teamed up to find any more that might be around. All their own rooms have been covered, and each one had a camera in it."  
"Our room had two!" Sideswipe mentioned from the other side of the room.  
"Shut up and hold still." Sunstreaker grunted, using a soapy rag to clean the back of his brother's head.  
"Hmmm..."  
"We tried to get one intact, but they detonate if you touch them." Prowl continued, watching his leader's expression carefully as the taller mech wiped the soot off his helmet.

"They are odd, aren't they?" Optimus mused. "They couldn't transmit anything, by the look of the one in my room. So, whoever put them there probably planned on retrieving the contents later. But why would you bother?"

"Dunno."

Prime looked over the mechs in the room. "We need to search the whole Ark. I want these cameras all found."

- - -

Three hours later, an approximate fifty eight cameras had been found and detonated, in places ranging from the soldiers' personal quarters, to the Rec Room, to the Medbay. No one was owning up to having placed them, and whoever had done it was smart enough to put one in their own room and look upset when it was found by the Search and Destroy party. There was no room spared. Privately, 'Nate was impressed by the sheer scale of the surveillance coverage that his underlings had managed, although he was genuinely surprised to find one in _his_ room, and to see it blow up in his face. How they had gotten one in there without his notice, or why they had been rigged to explode, he didn't know. He'd have to ask them.

Red Alert, on the other hand, was panicking.

Someone had infiltrated the Ark! He was certain! Someone had infiltrated, and felt that they needed to watch everyone! He didn't care that the cameras had blown up, several of them directly in his own face, he just cared that someone had put them there!

Somewhere there had to be someone... anyone... in the Ark who knew something. The culprit, an accomplice, a witness! There had to be some clue, lying around somewhere. And he was determined to find it.

He took it upon himself to conduct a search of the Ark, getting permission from each individual Autobot to search their quarters. It took him days to get permission from everyone, and in the case of those who could not give permission, meaning Smokescreen, the Security Director headed straight to the top and asked Prime for permission to enter. Prime couldn't really give it, but Smokescreen was the only mech who could not give permission themselves. He was the only mech. And he had been missing those few days before the explosion. What had he been doing?

Prime gave Red Alert permission to search Smokescreen's quarters, on the grounds that there was reason to believe he was involved in the explosion in the Engineering Labs.

A day later, the red and white Lamborghini was going through everyone's room, from top to bottom. And it wasn't too long till he reached Smokescreen's room.

And after an hour, Red Alert found nothing.

He sighed. At the rate he was going, everyone would be able to hide or destroy any incriminating evidence that he may find... which would render this entire search pointless. And he didn't like the idea of leaving someone else, even if that someone else was Prowl, in charge of the security monitors for too long.

But just as he was turning to leave, he spotted something.

A small data pad, not encrypted, at the bottom of a pile of official looking documents. He could tell it wasn't part of the stack, personal notepads and official reports were two completely different styles. But why would there be a personal notepad in a pile of reports? The Lamborghini strode over, and carefully shimmied the pad out from under the pile, somehow managing to pull it off without spilling the pile.

He looked down over the pad's contents, one particular line sticking in his head.

_Jewel of the Southern Half? What's that?_ He wondered.

Frowning to himself, he headed out of Smokescreen's room, and back to the Security Office, where he dismissed Prowl (the only time in his life he ever expected to be able to do so) and took his seat. But rather than the work that he knew so desperately needed his attention, he pulled up a search box on Teletraan-1's database, and typed in the strange phrase. The computer pondered the phrase for a long while, before offering an answer.

Red Alert looked at the screen with a contemplative, "Hmmm..."

- - -

'Nate crossed his arms and smiled at the two young Clandestine agents that stood before him.

"So."

They smiled back. "So?" Oversight echoed, cocking his head to one side.  
'Nate chuckled. "What is this grand scheme of yours?" He asked. "It's hard to have missed the Ark-wide search for your little toys."  
Vectorcross attempted to suppress a giggle.  
"I'm curious to know how you managed one in _my_ quarters, Scape."  
"You disapprove?" She asked, still smiling.  
"Not at all. But to come home after an Autobot shift and find an odd little device in my room which does no more than detonate when touched, I find myself impressed."  
Vectorcross beamed with pride.  
"What was I doing when you put that there?"  
"You were in the Medbay." Oversight cut in. "We could just about hear Ratchet yelling at you from here."  
'Nate laughed out loud. "And I've been such a good 'bot lately too."

The two younger mechs laughed along with the leader for a few moments.

"Why do they blow, by the way?" 'Nate asked.  
"Why not?" Vectorcross countered. "They're only decoys, anyway."  
"Decoys?"  
"Yeh." Oversight said with an added smirk, jutting his hip out. "We've smuggled these all but microscopic cameras in; slim, see through, works of certified brilliance..."  
"Oh thank you." The femme cut in with a smile.  
"...That are currently watching every room in the Ark, or at least the ones that had the duds in there."  
"The decoys weren't even working cameras." Vectorcross added. "They just look like cameras."

"Clever. Very clever. Well done."

The two perfectly shone with pride.

"So, where do we view these feeds?" 'Nate asked.  
"Right here, bossman." Oversight opened his subspace, and pulled out a small, wireless device with a wide screen and a keypad. "I figure that these things will be widespread within a year." He said, handing the Autobot sized laptop computer to the leader.  
'Nate used the keys to scroll through the different rooms that were under surveillance. He smirked, seeing that his room and the pair's rooms weren't in the list... not that he had expected them to be. The three of them were the only ones without any suspicion slapped on them.

He rolled through the list of rooms, giving a glance to each screen, thinking about how they would have to make up a roster so they could keep watch on the many rooms, when one image caught his optic.

"Hold up..."

"What's on, boss?" The two younger spies leaned over and looked at the image on the screen.

_"...They're planning this new energy thing. Perceptor is going to send the plans to engineering in a few days. I've been making it hard for him, but his paranoia is making sabotage a little hard."  
"This seems like something that may put the Autobots at an advantage if it comes to fruition!"  
"That's why I've been fragging with it."  
"...Road Hauler, I want you to do something for me."  
"Something else, you mean?"  
_There was a growl. _"I want you to steal those plans!"  
"Steal them?"  
"Did you not hear me?"  
"No, I heard you."  
"Then do it."  
"Well, in that case I'm going to need to ask for something a little more substantial than a pat on the head."  
"Oh?"  
"I'm a saboteur, not a thief. I think I can pull it off, if I'm careful, but it's not what I do. So, a little... reward for my efforts, maybe?"  
"You serve _me_, you don't ask for things!"  
"Well Megatron, if you want the energy production unit plans... otherwise, I'll just wreck it as normal and you can go without. I've been putting my life on the line for you just as much as the grunts and lackeys that you live with over there, only _they_ get payed. If I hadn't been here doing this for _you_, then you would have been screwed so many times by new weapons, vehicles, alternate modes... you name it; I've broken it!"_

There was a silence.

_"Very well. Bring me those plans, and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams."_

Road Hauler cut the link with a salute and a bow, and left his quarters.

The two younger spies pulled their optics off the camera feed to look at each other, before looking down at their leader, whose stunned face was still locked on the screen.  
"...'Nate?"

"Road Hauler is the spy?" The Clandestine agent said in disbelief. "Road Hauler?"  
"Who is he?"

"He's one of the Construction workers, in Grapple's crew. He's been here since the Ark launch, and he never caused any trouble." 'Nate sighed. "Although, thinking about it, he could get into there..."

"He could? Has he got any rank?" Oversight asked.  
"No, he's Perceptor's best friend."  
"...Ouch."  
"Yeah... ouch."

"So, what are we going to do?"

'Nate looked at the screen before him for a long while. Just when the two younger spies were about to voice concern, the white mech cracked a smile.

That smile grew to a chuckle.

That chuckle evolved into a quiet laugh.

And that laugh erupted into throws of laughter, which was malicious in its intent.

The Encryption Facade Type laughed deeply, the voice that none of the Autobots knew to be his resonating within the sound-tight room. He suddenly stopped and smirked at the screen that showed Road Hauler's room in a manner that would have done Megatron proud, sharp dental plates reflecting the dim light.  
"Oh, you poor mech, Road Hauler." He hissed darkly. "You've been a bad boy..."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: XD So evil... heh heh heh. And also, on the point of Road Hauler, I posted a message a while ago asking for who I could use (and kill off without any fangirls ripping my face off and feeding it to me) on the Seibertron dot com message boards, and someone suggested RH. I'd never heard of him before so I thought he was cool to use XD

'Nate is awesome fun to write when he is being evil CX


	5. Justice of a Wrong Made Right

If Perceptor knew of the presence lingering around his laboratory, he gave no indication as he worked on his plans. Mechanical pencil in one hand, calculator under the other, and an array of research notes that he had managed to save spread out in an arc across the top of his desk. The attacks on his project had stopped. He should have been suspicious, but he was too eager to get it finished that he didn't notice.

At what felt like three in the morning, he leaned away from his desk with a triumphant smile on his faceplate. "Finished. Finally... finally complete!"

Although his mind felt like jumping up and dancing around the lab for the next hour, all the while screaming his thanks to the almighty, his body had other plans, and, now that his mind was satisfied, he slumped over the folder that contained the finished calculations and fell deep into the land of sleep.

The motion sensors in the ceiling picked up the lack of movement in the room swiftly, and in a smooth shift, the lights dimmed, and the room was dark.

For an hour, it stayed that way.

Road Hauler landed softly on the lab floor after swinging out of the ceiling vent, and he paused when the lights came on. His green optics flicked over to the slumbering scientist, but the most it got out of the microscope was a tired grunt, and his head turned to face the other way... but that was all.

Road Hauler let out a silent sigh of relief, and crept over towards the desk, his footsteps silent after many million years of practice, and looked down at the folder the red and blue mech was using as a pillow.

He smiled and gently stroked Perceptor's helm.

"Sorry, Perce." He breathed. "I want this blueprint. Megatron will pay me handsomely for it, and then I won't have to do this anymore. You've been a good friend."

Just as he lowered his hand to the desk to pull the folder out from under Perceptor's cheek, a deep chuckle filled the lab. It wasn't loud enough to rouse the scientist, but enough to echo.

"Dear me, Road Hauler, you've been naughty..."

Road Hauler jerked away from the desk and looked around. The lab, lit by the motion sensor lights, was empty.

"Who... who's there?!" He asked the room, careful to keep his voice down so he didn't wake Perceptor.

There was another chuckle, but then there was silence.

Road Hauler's optics narrowed, and he slowly roved his gaze around the room. It seemed empty, but...

"Boo."

The construction mech near jumped out of his armour as a mech appeared behind him, leaning casually on Perceptor's desk.

"Fragging Pit Bleeding FUCK!!" He cursed out loud, the words melting into an aggravated hiss.

'Nate crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, as if he didn't understand the reason for the mech's distress, but the mock in his optics was more than clear enough.

"Now now." He cooed softly. "No need for words like that. But then, they are suited for the mouth of a Decepticon."

Road Hauler looked at the white mech with wide green optics. 'Nate wasn't wearing his mask, so it took the saboteur a few moments to realise who it was.

"How the SLAG did you get in here?!" He hissed.

'Nate chuckled. "Why, the same way you did, Road Hauler. After all, Perceptor has barricaded the door."

"How did you... how do you know about...?"

"About you? Well, I will admit, it did take me far too long to figure out who you were. You led me on quite a chase, you sly thing."

"H-huh?'

"Oh don't play coy with me boy."

"Boy? I'm older than you!!"

"Are you?" 'Nate smirked. "Are you sure? What do you really know about me?"

Road Hauler's jaw dropped as he looked at the mech before him. 'Nate's armour seemed to slide away in slats, others of different shapes and colours taking their place. In a manner of moments, the 'Nate's armour had yielded to a replica of Road Hauler's.

"Impressed yet?" He asked in Road Hauler's voice.

"I-Impossible!!"

"Not at all." His armour shifted again, this time to look like Ratchet. "I could be any of these mechs. Do you know the difference?" The predatory sneer on the fake CMO's face sent shivers down his back. He really couldn't tell...

"Who are you?" He breathed.

"Does it matter?" His armour shifted again, back to his usual form, a smirk on his unmasked face, revealing his sharp dental plates. He cast an arm to one side, flicking a rather nasty looking dagger out of his wrist and into his palm.

"Megatron wasn't going to pay you, either." He said offhand, his optics flicking to Perceptor for such a short moment that Road Hauler never noticed. "You made demands of him. As if he'd humble himself by giving you a reward."

Road Hauler trembled in rage.

"Oh, and Perceptor is awake you know."

Road Hauler squeaked and looked at the scientist. The mech hadn't been kidding. The microscope's optics were wide with fright, staring at the far wall. His body was perfectly still; he had been awake and listening! Long enough, by the look on his face, to have heard about Megatron rewarding him. Damnit, he was screwed. But, if he could convince Perceptor that it wasn't true, he still had a chance! He still had a chance!!

"Perce-!" He was cut off by a blade piecing the underside of his chin with a horrible noise.

"Ah ah, none of that." The familiar stranger said in an unfamiliar voice.

Perceptor started trembling as the sound of tearing metal and splattering energon burst the quiet of the lab.

"May you burn in the Pit, Decepticon Saboteur Road Hauler."

There was a pause as the infiltrator's death throws seeped into the lab and the motion sensors dimmed out the lights. But then there was silence.

It was a good ten minutes before Perceptor summoned the courage to move and look up. And he immediately wished he hadn't.

"R-Road Hauler..."

Every SOS signal in the red and blue mech's arsenal went off, waking Autobots from their slumber, summoning them to the lab in droves. Optimus and Prowl were the ones to break down the barricaded door with a shout of the scientist's name, to find him sitting at his desk, unharmed, but with a look of perfect horror splayed across his face. Frowning, they followed his line of sight... the Vice and the Commander gaped at the sight before them, and the Autobots that had assembled behind them gasped.

Lying there on the far side of the lab was a poor mech; His face had been torn open by a sharp blade, the wiring in his head sliced with medical precision, a main energon line cut in half so it was pumping the energon out of him in a steady flow.

Ratchet was ordered by the Prime to the front, and the medic pushed through the crowd, only to stare in shock at the mess that lay before him. "Primus..."

He moved over to inspect Road Hauler, finding that he was already dead. He sighed and shook his head.

Whoever killed him knew the best way to do it so he would die quickly. But, at least the head was more or less intact, so they could pull memories from it... wait.

Ratchet frowned as his scanners picked up a foreign object imbedded in the mech's cranial unit.

"What the..." He frowned, and leaned close. He spotted it reasonably quickly. Choosing a pair of tweezers from his medical arsenal, and carefully lifted it out... but a feeling of dread developed in the pit of his fuel pump as the object seemed to cling to the metal of the tweezers.

"Son of a BITCH!" He cursed, to use a human phrase.

Optics slid in the medic's direction. "Ratchet?" Optimus said gently. "Are you alri-"  
"Magnets!"  
"I beg your pardon?"

"Magnets! Fragging magnets!" Ratchet shook his head, horrified. "Rather than destroy his CPU to stop us from scanning his memories, the afthead rubbed it with fragging magnets!"  
"What does that mean, Hatchet?" Someone asked from the crowd of Autobots in the hallway.

Ratchet sighed. "Unless it's an electro magnet, normally these," He held the rectangle of magnetic metal up for the others to see. "Won't do anything to us. But this was directly on his CPU!"

"What does that mean?" Asked another voice from the peanut gallery.

"Are you daft? It means that his hard drive is completely and utterly useless!!"

Prowl frowned and looked at Optimus. "That means that, whoever killed Road Hauler... was a professional." The Prime concluded.

"Ravage?" Prowl suggested.

"It's not his style."

"Anyone at all come to mind?"

"No... It is... worrying."

The Commander turned to look at Perceptor, who was still sitting at his desk in the direction of Road Hauler's body, shock and horror on his face. Optimus sighed and moved over to the mech, putting a tender hand on his shoulder. Perceptor jumped and looked up into the azure hues that were looking at him with such concern behind them.

"Are you alright?" Prime asked.

Perceptor frowned and shook his head.

The Mack crouched down to kneel beside the much smaller creature. "Tell me what happened, Perceptor."

The scientist sighed and retold what he had heard. The mech whose voice he did not recognise standing over him, Road Hauler standing where he couldn't see, the conversation they were having and then the silence that happened after the sounds of slaughter.

"This mech, he didn't hurt you?"

"No, he didn't. The way he was standing, it almost seemed like he was... protecting me."

"Hmmm..."

"But, when he called Road Hauler a Decepticon... Road Hauler didn't deny it."

Optimus frowned deeply. "You never saw this mech?"

"I saw an arm in my peripheral vision, but that was all. His shadow kept changing shape too; it was strange. I couldn't tell who it was."

- - -

Vectorcross crept into Oversight's room later that night, finding the minibot stomach down on his berth, propped up on his elbows, a data pad before him, his deep blue optics scanning the contents.

"Point?" She asked.

"Fuck Vector, have you read this?" Oversight asked, not looking up from the pad in front of his face.

"What is it?"

"The Hatchet's medical report on that Road Hauler guy's shell. Shit."  
"How did you get that?" The femme asked, leaning over to read over the minibot's shoulder, sounding delighted.

"I'm magic." Oversight said with a smirk, taking his optics of the female for a moment. "But really, read it, kiddo."

Vector took it, and gave its contents a skim.

"Holy Hexatones..." She muttered. "You gotta give our boss credit; he ain't subtle."

"Not in the slightest."

The two young spies sighed and looked at each other. "Now what?"

"I... dunno." Vectorcross looked back down at the pad she was holding, but she wasn't really reading it. "We've gacked the infiltrator, but where do we go from here?"

"Who knows what assignments 'Nate'll give us now." Oversight continued. "With the spy here gone, the only Clandestine assignment he could possibly give us would be..."

"Bringing back the Institute?"

The two young spies jumped and both drew weapons on 'Nate as he appeared out of the shadows.  
"No stress, it's only me."

The pair lowered their guns. "SLAG 'Nate, you scared the fuck outta me!!" Oversight cursed.

"I noticed. Sorry."

"Forget it." Oversight sighed deeply and put his precious gun away.

"You've been listening to more than one of our conversations then?" Vectorcross said casually, stowing her pistol.

"Admittedly, yes. I was curious. Do you want me to apologize?"

"Are you sorry for doing it?"

"Honestly? No."

"Then no. I wouldn't want you to lie to us."

Oversight stared at the femme before bursting out laughing. "Scape, that was awesome."

"Thankyou, thankyou."

'Nate smiled. The pair were like kids. They were kids while he... he was the older mech. Like an older brother or a father. He was the one who needed to protect them, to teach them. Was he ready for a job like that? Could he do it?

Oversight looked at 'Nate. "Boss-bot, seriously though..." His voice became solemn. "What are we doing next?" He asked.

"That depends. I know what you want to do, Point, you want to re-establish the institute."

Oversight looked sheepish.

"Don't look like that Point, it's quite an alright goal. The only problem is how?"

"Good point."

Vectorcross looked at the white mech. "What's wrong, 'Nate?" She asked. "Something is bothering you."

"Oh, am I projecting? Sorry, I didn't realise."

"'Nate, screw that slag." Oversight said. "What's going on? If it's your problem, it's our problem."

'Nate sighed lightly. "I have been pondering long and hard our problem. The problem that brought you two here... the attack on the Institute."

The two younger spies tensed. Their memories of the attack had been altered so that they wouldn't bother them as much, but they still knew what the senior spy was talking about.

"This attack has me worried. The more I think about it, the more suspicious it looks. How could hundreds of elite spies not have any indication that an attack was going to happen?"

There was no answer.

"We need to find who is responsible and take them down... for the honour of the Clandestine Institute and our fallen comrades. But how to do that? We cannot abandon our safe haven here, nor the... allies." He had almost said friends. "How do we get to Cybertron to avenge them, and how would we begin?"

There was a silence between the three spies.

"Yes... how would we begin?"


	6. Fall from Grace

Optimus Prime was worried.

Not to say he didn't have cause, that is. He wasn't Red Alert, after all. But still. He was worried.

A murder had happened right there, not two corridors down from where he had been tiredly working, and he hadn't even considered that something was amiss. You'd think that if one of his Autobots was in danger, he would have at least had that odd feeling in the back of his head, like usual.

Maybe Road Hauler had been a Decepticon infiltrator after all?

The Prime was jostled out of his thoughts by a sudden knock on his office door.  
"Come in." He said, grabbing a data pad and determinedly looking at it, making an attempt at looking like he'd been working, and not worrying.

When the door opened, Optimus was slightly surprised to see Red Alert standing in his doorway.  
"Prime, are you busy?"  
"Not so much that you need to leave." Was the Leader's reply, putting the data pad down on his desk, and gesturing to the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

Red Alert sat down, putting his own data pad on Optimus' desk. "Optimus, there has been a major security breach."  
"You're referring to Road Hauler's death the other night."  
"Possibly. I have not yet come across any links between this and the murder, however."  
"You've been looking into something else?"  
"Yes sir. The breach that I speak of happened before Road Hauler's death."  
"Yet you say they are not related?"  
"I have not been able to draw connections between the breach and the murder. But there is sure to be one, somewhere."  
Optimus nodded. "I see. What is this 'breach'?"  
Red Alert looked around, nervously, before leaning closer to the Prime, across the desk. "I'd rather we not speak out loud, Prime."  
"Why?"  
"I have reason to believe that the Ark has been bugged."  
"Are you referring to the cameras? They were all found and detonated."  
"That is why I am suspicious, Prime. Why would they be put around the Ark if only to blow? There must be other bugs around."  
Optimus frowned behind his mask. Normally, Red Alert could be talked down out of fits of paranoia back to the normal talking zone, but this time it didn't seem like he was panicking. So, on the same point, it didn't seem like he could be talked down.  
"So, how should we proceed?" He asked.

Red Alert brandished an electronic pen, the kind that one would use to make notes on a data pad. "As long as we keep our notes covered, we should be able to talk without being 'overheard'."

"We can't use our comms frequencies?"  
"The open channel can be easily accessed by all Autobots. I don't have access to the medical channel. And, if my theories are correct, the individuals involved are capable, I have no doubt, of hacking into the private and secure frequencies."  
"Very well." Prime conceded, and opened his drawer to search for a blank data pad.  
Red Alert smiled slightly. "You could use the one you were staring at when I came in."

Optimus coughed slightly, and picked up the pad. "...Right."  
Red Alert shook his head and put his pen to his data pad.

_There are individuals here who shouldn't be._ The security director wrote.  
_Who?_  
_Those two new 'Autobots', Vectorcross and Oversight.  
You had reservations about them when they arrived._ Was Prime's comment.

_Turns out I had good cause!  
_Prime cocked his head to one side. Red Alert sighed just a little, and handed the Prime another data pad. On it, in Smokescreen's handwriting, were a few notes from his 'secret mission'. Prime looked at the pad, his optics narrow as he tried to make the connection.  
He looked at Red Alert quizzically. The Lamborghini sighed and put his pen back to his pad.

_I've looked it up. Jewel of the Southern Half is a common local phrase, describing a large, very beautiful building in Southern Polyhex._  
_Do you know what the building is?_ Prime asked.  
_A very prestigious dormitory building. It's nearly impossible to get a residence there._ The security director frowned. _Although, for a dorm, it was littered with more lecture theatres, and large halls, many of which I suspect were armouries and training rooms, than a military school._  
Prime looked at Red Alert with a strange expression. _What's your point?_

_The 'Jewel of the Southern Half' Dormitory Building was ransacked and razed to the ground by the Decepticons a week before the two new recruits were transferred here. They were both residents._

Prime's optics widened. "Oh. I see." He said out loud.  
"Yes sir. That was what I thought too." _They probably had a contact here, who helped them seek refuge amongst our ranks._ He added on his data pad.

"Any suspects?"

Red Alert frowned. "No." He admitted. "And that worries me."

"Well, that's a bit of a problem." Said Jazz, striding in, causing the red and white Lamborghini to jump near out of his armour. The saboteur smiled apologetically, before turning to his leader. "If we can't find the big fish, the guppies could be used as the bait we need."

"I won't use anyone as bait, Jazz, even if they are Decepticon spies."  
"It's our best bet, Prime." Jazz urged. "I mind to have someone alongside me that I can't fully trust. It's damaging to morale."

Prime sighed. This was beginning to weigh on his mind heavier that he would have liked.

"Prime." Red Alert said, standing up. "I will confront the two infiltrators, and get them to tell me who their leader is."  
"Red..." Optimus attempted... but the Security Director was already gone.

Optimus sighed deeply. "I'm worried, Jazz." He admitted. "Very much so."  
Jazz smiled. "That's normal. If you weren't worried, I'd be worried about _you_." He put a comforting hand on his commander's shoulder. "I'll look out for Red Alert."  
"I'll trust that mission to you, Jazz. No one would be better for it."

Jazz chuckled. "Of course not."

- - -

Red Alert paused at the door to the command centre, his fingers trembling as they held the data pad in his hand. There were only two people in the Command Centre, just as he had suspected; Vectorcross and Oversight. How they had managed to manipulate the roster so that there was only the two of them here, he would never know. He wasn't sure he wanted to, either.

Taking a breath of air through his intakes to gather his courage, he stepped forward, stopping a short distance from the two operatives.

"Oversight, Vectorcross." He said, looking at each of them.  
The two turned away from their consoles to look at him. "Red Alert. Hello." Oversight greeted politely.

"I have evidence now." Red Alert said, puffing out his chest and holding the data pad at his breastplate. "I have evidence! You're not supposed to be here!!"

Although there was no visible reaction from the two spies, they both mentally flinched. Had they faltered somewhere?  
Noting the lack of a reaction Red Alert continued. "In order to get yourselves into the Ark, you wrote this application, specifically to disguise the fact that you were a femme." His optics were locked on Vectorcross as he waved the application in front of her face. "Using no pronouns in your application, you were able to slip through the system!"

"Red Alert, you're overreacting, don't you think?" Oversight said, attempting to soothe the situation.  
"I most certainly am not!" The Lamborghini retorted, tapping the surface of the data pad."The proof is right here! And, unless I am very much mistaken, this 'application', and your own, Oversight, didn't pass through the hands of any Autobot Official on Cybertron, in Polyhex or elsewhere!"  
That time, Vectorcross really flinched. How did he know they were from Polyhex...?

Red Alert noticed the jolt, and mentally praised himself. "You have faked your way into the Ark with deception and deceit, so your positions here are thrown into question!"  
"Red, you're being silly." Vectorcross said, making an attempt at situation repair.  
"These transgressions alone are enough to have you both imprisoned as possible Decepticon spies!" Red Alert continued, ignoring her. "As you were able to send your 'applications' direct to the hands of our Second in Command, this suggests that you had an internal contact!"

The pair looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. How had he found out? Nate was meticulous! He always had been! How is it that Red Alert had been able to trace them so far...?

"It saddens me to think that one of us is a spy, but alas, you two are the living proof!" The red and white declared, taking a few brave steps towards them. "If you tell me everything, then, I will be able to reduce your sentences."  
"Tell you what? I don't understand, Red Alert." Oversight responded, his spark more or less in his mouth.

"Tell me about the _Jewel of the Southern Half!_"

Still young and still lacking complete training, Vectorcross found herself unable to restrain herself. She gasped. Loudly. And the moment she had done it, both Clandestine students knew they were screwed.

Red Alert had found them out.

Oversight mentally cursed. He'd been in training longer than the female, so he had been able to hold himself... but... Red Alert was going to become a problem, rather rapidly. And right now... with the amount of security cameras in the room pointed right on their faces, there was only one mech who could help them now.

And Oversight called for him with everything he had.

Red Alert on the other hand, continued speaking. "The dormitory building in Southern Polyhex that the locals refer to as 'The Jewel', fell to a mass Decepticon onslaught just before you transferred yourselves here... an attack where no survivors were found afterwards. And then you two should come along, bypassing every checkpoint, every stage of transfer approval... you two bypassed them all... But records show that you're not even Autobots! So it makes me wonder if the attack was staged in order to allow you an option if confronted on the matter! After all, why would the Decepticons attack their own complex?"  
The security director leaned closer to the pair and growled low in their audios. _"Tell me who you are!"_

There was an ominous pause, Vectorcross trembling with fear of what was to come, and anger at herself for being unable to prevent it. Oversight was internally frantic. Their entire existence was at risk of crumbling around their audios, all because of this one, painfully insistent and paranoid Lamborghini! _Hurry 'Nate, hurry..._

There was suddenly a snapping sound from behind the red and white Autobot, and he spun, just in time for plumes of thick smoke to fill the room. "W-what?!" He exclaimed, swiping at the smoke and taking a tentative step backwards.

The sound of a blade being drawn filled the command deck as a figure moved through the smoke towards the Lamborghini.  
"I am sorry, Red Alert." Said a deep, unfamiliar voice, the owner drawing nearer and nearer to the now terrified mech. "I admire your resourcefulness. But you've stumbled on something that must remain hidden... and there is only one way to prevent you from harming us..."

The mech in the smoke raised his blade...

A light dagger suddenly came streaking through the darkness, burying itself deep into 'Nate's hand. He dropped his knife in surprise and cried out in pain, the clatter and the unfamiliar voice being Red Alert's saviour's cue that all had gone well.

"Activate Air Filter System!" His voice ordered. "Maximum power!"

There was a whirr as the vents opened, sucking out the smoke. The first one to be revealed was Jazz. The black and white Porshe stood just inside the command centre from the starboard side door, looking in, a second knife in one hand, his pistol in the other.

Next were the stunned forms of Vectorcross and Oversight, still in their places by the computer consoles. Although they had been surprised by the events, they didn't seem to show it. They had heard that cry of pain, and they were watching the retreating cloud of smoke intently. Jazz's optics flicked to them for a split second. Red Alert had been right, judging from their reactions. The head spy was in that smoke. Distantly though, he wondered if they really were Decepticons... because they looked... quite worried for whomever it was that had come to their 'rescue'.

Red Alert came bursting out of the thinning smoke a second later, scrambling away from the danger zone to stand near Jazz once he felt that his chance to escape had come.

The rest of the Command Element; Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet and Optimus Prime himself came dashing into the command centre just as the last of the smoke was being sucked away.

The first thing the onlookers saw was a pair of feet, energon dripping from a higher positioned wound. Slowly, the body of the mech was revealed to the Autobots... white armour panelling, grey joints and workings, green and red decals on the door wings... a grey face mask... two glowing fins on the side of his helm... and there was 'Nate.

Crouched low in a defensive position and clinging to his wounded hand, the mech before them looked like he could spring at them any moment, even with the wound. Jazz suspected it was more the surprise of it that had stopped him, rather than the pain.

They looked on in shock. No, this couldn't be right.

"W-wheeljack?!"


	7. Crossroads of Emotion

"Wheeljack?!"

Optimus Prime could not believe what his optics were showing him. "You're the spy?"

Wheeljack ignored the commander, preoccupied with looking at Jazz. Oversight and Vectorcross had risen from their chairs, stunned and worried expressions on their faces. Their leader had been caught? No... this had to be some sort of mistake... what trick was 'Nate playing on them...?

"I truly underestimated you, Jazz." The Engineer said, bringing his wounded hand up to show the Porsche just how the blade had buried itself in his palm, the point of the dagger protruding out the back of his hand. "I'm glad you're the one who caught me, rather than anyone else. " His sharp optics snapped to Red Alert, who withered. "But Red Alert as bait? I didn't think he'd agree to that, Saboteur."  
Red Alert frowned slightly. Wheeljack had it backwards; it was the two spies behind him that were the bait, not hi-  
"He didn' agree. Optimus doesn't like the use of bait in order to get at people."

Wheeljack laughed darkly. "Well, in that case, you deserve more praise than I thought!" He wrapped his good hand around the handle of the dagger. "To so easily cast aside the morals of your commander takes a true professional." He tightened his grip, and pulled, the blade making a screech as it scraped against the metal of his hand, the fluids making sucking noises as they at first, tried to follow the blade, then fell back in accordance with the wills of gravity. The white mech seemed to smirk, seeing the flinches of disgust that he drew from those watching. He held the blade loosely between his fingers of his good hand, and straightened, looking now to the other Autobots, who were still staring at him in disbelief.

"And what are you staring at?" The Engineer wondered mockingly. "Have I got something on my face?"  
Optimus frowned. "Wheeljack..."  
"Prime?" The white mech was clearly teasing them now.

"This can't be right!" Ratchet blurted out. "Wheeljack, you're not a murderer!"  
There was a slow pause as the two white mechs looked at each other. "Ratchet." Wheeljack broke the silence. "You don't know what I am."

Ratchet recoiled, his face reading horror and disbelief. "Wheeljack..."  
The engineer shook his head. "I did what I needed to do."  
Optimus Prime stepped forward. "What warrants the death of another creature, Wheeljack?!" He demanded, his voice stern, but the commander's lack of understanding was clear in his deep tones.  
"Road Hauler... I had never thought him to be a Decepticon Saboteur." Wheeljack glanced at Jazz as he spoke, clearly seeing the twig of surprise from the white and black Porsche. "But we caught him talking to Soundwave. And subsequently, Megatron. Seems that he'd been the thorn in our side since before the Arc launch. How many times, I can't even count, the science and engineering departments have scrapped projects because calculations have gone awry or missing, components have been overheating strangely, or things just overall not working. It makes one wonder just how many of these projects have been under that Decepticon's subtle fingers."  
"There was no need to kill him! You should have exposed him, and we would have detained him!" Optimus stressed.

"To what point and purpose?" Wheeljack wondered. "He was an isolated unit. He had no information to give us, and keeping him detained would have been a waste of space and resources."  
Optimus growled.

"And what about Smokescreen?!" Ratchet exclaimed, still finding it hard to accept that his best friend was not who he thought he was. "You cannot honestly stand there and tell me that Smokescreen was a Decepticon too!!"  
"Oh, no." Wheeljack shrugged his shoulders over dramatically. "If Smokescreen were a Decepticon, then he would be dead, not just hurt." He shook his head. "No, Smokescreen was becoming too inquisitive in my students."

"Students?" Vectorcross breathed, glancing at the black minibot beside her. "Did he apprentice us and not tell us?"  
"That would be just like him." Oversight breathed back.

"And what do you teach, Wheeljack? Betrayal? Deceit? How can someone like you exist?" Ironhide barked out. "An' I trusted you! We all did, and y'go and knock us flat!"

Ironhide pulled his rifle up, pointing the business end at the white mech. Although it hadn't been in their original plan, the other Autobots, including Ratchet and Red Alert, followed suit. The series of clicks that echoed through the room suggested that they were live... and the look on Ironhide's face suggested that he only needed the slightest excuse to fire.  
Prowl restrained a sigh of sadness as he looked at Wheeljack down the barrel of his acid pellet rifle. "Wheeljack." The Datsun said quietly. "Come quietly. You, and your apprentices. We are going to have to detain you."

Wheeljack shook his head. "I shan't." Ironhide growled at him and tightened his grip on his gun, his finger so close to the trigger that a twitch would set off the weapon. "I am afraid, everyone, you are going to have to put your guns down."  
"Oh?!" Ironhide shouted. "And why is _that_?!"  
"Well, I don't think you'd be able to react quick enough to stop _them_ from firing."

The Brass turned their heads in surprise, and their mouths, for those who had them, sagged open. The two young transformers, who up until a second ago, had been standing behind Wheeljack, were now standing behind the group of four, a pistol in both hands, the barrels resting just at the back of their necks.  
"You can fire at me if you wish, everyone." Wheeljack continued. "You have no guarantee that I'll be hit, and those two will not hesitate to fire. I'd hate to see you guys hurt, so, put the guns down. Disengage your weapons and drop them on the floor."

There was a pause as morals clashed with emotions, self preservation collided with duty, and options were weighed. Finally though, Optimus came to a decision. He could not risk the lives of his men. With a defeated sigh, he disengaged his rifle and dropped it on the floor. Prowl, Ratchet and Ironhide did the same, the latter doing it with a grumble and growl.

"Wise move." Wheeljack said with a nod.

Wheeljack turned his head to look at Jazz and Red Alert, who both still had weapons trained on him. The Lancia shook his head. "Jazz, Red, even if you two fired, you would miss."

"You've caused too much death and pain for me t' just let you go, 'Jack." Jazz said, lowering his stance. "You've gotta pay for what you've done."

"I will." Wheeljack said. "One day, I will. But that day is not today."  
"Wheeljack..."  
"Sorry, Jazz."

"Nate! Change of shift in two minutes. Autobots incoming." Oversight suddenly piped up from behind Ratchet, his pistols still trained on the medic and the tactician.  
"A larger Audience would not be good, sir." Vectorcross added from her place behind the commander and weapons specialist.  
"True that." Wheeljack agreed.

"'Nate'?" Optimus asked. "What is 'nate'?"  
Wheeljack looked at the commander, a smile seeming to show through his mask. "It is what _they_ know me by. Not all mechs know me as Wheeljack, y'know. My call sign was given to me by my trainer, long, long ago. It's not a hard name to figure out, if you think about it."

"Wheeljack... who are you really?" Optimus asked. "Where do your loyalties lie?"

"That's a delicate question." The white mech admitted. "But I'm not a Decepticon, if that's what you're worried about."

"All this time... we thought we knew who you were... we thought we could trust you..." Ratchet breathed, hurt.

The white mech shook his head. "You're right; you don't know who I am." Slowly, he brought a hand up, and rested his fingertips on the banded mask across his face. There was a soft pause, and, with on overly dramatic release of air pressure, he pulled his face mask away, revealing his face to the Autobots.  
There was a round of soft gasps. Wheeljack never removed his mask! Not even when his head was damaged, and the mask needed to be replaced did he ever...!  
"Wheeljack..."  
"But... this is why you _can_ trust me. At least, for now."

"...for... now?"  
He shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "It makes me... sad... that it should come to this... Ratchet." He said, speaking directly to the medic. "You have... been a good friend to me."

Ratchet exchanged glances with the other Autobots.

Nate sighed sadly. "Point, Scape, it is time we... took our leave."  
"Sir!" Was the response from both spies. The pair kept their guns trained on the Autobots, but backed up so they were standing just behind Wheeljack. It wasn't until they were at his flank did they lower their weapons. The older mech held up a remote control.

"Wheeljack wait!" Ratchet pleaded.  
The engineer pressed the button on the remote.

And the entire Ark shook as Mount Saint Helens erupted around them.

Sulphur, ash and smoke filled the air above the natural landmark, and the ground was split in places. The explosives that Nate had set had triggered only a small eruption, but even then, magma bubbled to the surface and billowed down the side of the mountain, pouring down towards the Ark entrance, over the rear thrusters of the half buried space craft. The Autobots inside the base scrambled to figure out what was happening, a few of them falling into a panic when they realised their only way out was blocked by molten rock, which was also oozing into the Ark through said way out. Some quick thinking by Trailbreaker and Inferno cut a path through the magma, and held it at bay, so the stricken Autobots could escape.

These Autobots were very worried, however, when they realised that their Command Element, which included the only one who could put them back together, and a few other Autobots, had not fled the Ark with everyone else. They were still inside! Surely they would have felt the eruption! Why hadn't they come out with everyone else? Where were they? Were they trapped?  
But because the eruption was still shaking the ground beneath them, and the mountain was still issuing magma at a slow pace, they could not proceed with a rescue attempt until the eruption was over.

Inside the Command Centre, the walls became the floor, then the ceiling, then walls again many times over. Guns were bounced around rather dangerously, and it was just as well that Wheeljack had had them disengage the weapons; otherwise this bouncing around business would have been a bit messier. The Autobots were bounced around just as badly; from wall, to floor, to ceiling and back once more, gathering scrapes, dints and debris as they did so. So rough was this treatment, that when it started to slow down, they were all too disorientated to notice.

When the world stopped shaking enough for the Autobots to pull themselves up and look about, which was about ten minutes after the shaking had physically stopped, Wheeljack, Oversight and Vectorcross... Nate, Point and Scape... were gone.

- - -

The three Clandestine agents ran across the American countryside at speed, stray drops of energon and oil flicking out from behind the largest of the three as they went. Perhaps it would have been faster to transform and drive or fly, but right now, it didn't matter.

They were passing over some craggy landscape, littered with canyons and crevasses, the rock and soil beneath their metallic feet a rich red ochre colour, when the taller mech slowed to a jog... then to a stop.  
His apprentices also pulled themselves up, looking back at the white form of their commander as they did so. His shoulders were drooping, and his arms were slack.

The pair were about to question their leader, when he slumped to his knees, his uninjured hand resting on the stone ground before him, the wounded one held loosely at his side.

"N-Nate!" The younger spies dashed to the white mech's side, worried. "Are you alright?"

"No." Was his answer. "No, I'm not."  
The students looked at each other for a moment, before looking back at their leader. Vectorcross knelt down beside him, and took his injured hand in hers, examining the wound. "You should let me repair this." She said tenderly. "Or at least put a cover on it. I have a first aid kit, so-"  
"It's not the wound that is bothering me!!" The Engineer spat, jerking his hand out of her grip. "Do you really think this insignificant injury is any more than an irritation?!"

The female recoiled. "I was only trying to help..."  
"Thankyou but your _help_ is unnecessary!"

The helicopter backed away from the white mech, a stricken expression on her face.  
"Don't you talk to her like that, 'Nate!" Oversight barked, puffing himself up to make himself look bigger, which seemed to be a habit amongst the minibot population. "Don't lash out just because you're cut over losing that lot as a living shield!"  
Wheeljack's optics flashed angrily and his good hand snapped up, catching the black mech by the throat and lifting him off the ground. Vectorcross let out a squeal of terror.

"I dare you to say that again." Wheeljack growled. "Curse out the Autobots within my hearing range and I swear to Primus Almighty that you will not live to see another moment."  
"Stop it!!" The female squealed, shifting to a position that she could spring up from, if she decided she needed to intervene. "Stop it right now!!"

Oversight didn't seem to get the hint. "What, you have feelings for those morons? They would all be dead now if the Clandestine Institute hadn't churned you out. So. Where do your loyalties lie?"  
Wheeljack twitched in anger, and his grip on the minibot tightened.  
"No! 'Nate! NO!! Don't kill him!! Don't!!" Vectorcross screamed, tears leaking down her black cheeks. "We're all we've got! WHEELJACK!! WE'RE ALL WE'VE GOT!!!!"

There was an ominous pause, as the femme's words rolled over the two mechs. The pause lengthened, and then, the Lancia turned his head to look at the female.  
When he said nothing and made no more moves, she spoke again. "We're all we've got... the Autobots... I know you love them dearly... but... we can't go back. They don't understand us. You. You are a Clandestine agent. You told me that you are first and foremost Clandestine... Autobot second..."

"I lied."  
"As if." Oversight choked out, his vocals crushed by the engineer's grip. "I know your history, _Wheeljack_. You were raised by the Institute. They saved your aft from the Decepticons on the day of your creation, but your creators weren't so lucky."  
"You're reading your own history, not mine." Wheeljack growled.  
"You and I have the same history, 'Nate, more or less. Her too." The minibot's expression softened. "She's right. We are all we've got. The Institute gave us the skills we needed to live. And now we have nothing left but those skills."

Expression seemed to just fall off Wheeljack then. Slowly, he lowered Oversight to the ground, and dropped his arm to his side. "But... there were others... far more skilled than we three... and they all... died.... how is it that our skills, that were pale in comparison to theirs... allowed us to live...?"

"I don't know, Wheeljack. But we owe it to them to find out."

Wheeljack looked up at them. They were right... they were both right. He had to get it together. He was the proud and powerful 'Nate! The best agent the Institute had ever seen in its history! Leaving the Autobots... it hurt... and he would have to be more careful in his operations now... especially with anyone that could recognise him...

"Sorry... Vectorcross... Oversight.... I..." He trailed off and sighed.  
"Don't worry about it, man." The minibot gave his commander a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Not everyone can be strong all of the time."  
Vectorcross chuckled. "Some of us can hardly be strong some of the time... I seriously thought you were going to kill him!"  
"He was."

"I was."

At her stricken expression, Wheeljack smiled. "But I won't." He stood. "We will go to Cybertron. We will find who did this to us... to our Kind... and they will feel the vengeance that they have brought down on themselves."

"As the humans say, Amen to that, Wheeljack. Good to have you back!!"

The two younger transformers started off towards the Decepticon's space bridge, happily chatting to one another as if nothing had happened. They were an odd pair, they were. Their sparks seemed to be alright in the direct moments after an event, but would suffer for it later. How could they be so resilient? How could they?

Sadly, Wheeljack looked back the way they had come... back towards the place he had called home for so long. It was still his home. The Institute was too. He would return to both of them one day. Perhaps... perhaps, one day...

...they would let him come home...

...maybe...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shuwaaa!  
Well, Finally, I got this chapter out. I'll be putting Oblique Impetus on hold for a while to write one of the other incomplete works I have lying around (not that I updated this one frequently or anything anyway... **cough**)

Comments are, as always welcome. Flames will be dealt with by everyone's favourite fire truck. XD


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